Halloween
by Jillie Rose
Summary: Professor Sinistra should have recalled that weird things always happen in Hogwarts on Halloween. Even temporary truces with Snape. Set during GoF. LilySnape and SS hints.


Disclaimers: First, I don't own these characters. JK Rowling does, and a fine job she does with them too. I'm just…playing in her sandpit.

Second, much of the character development of Sinistra (up to and including her first name in this fic) has been done by the wonderful She's a Star (a.k.a. Nita) and Gedia Kacela (a.k.a. something else).

Third, Snape/Sinistra is my second favourite Harry Potter pairing (after Ron/Hermione) and so I had to do something with the revelations of Deathly Hallows.

All feedback, good bad or indifferent, is welcome. Constructive criticism please.

**1 November 1994.**

**Bedroom Quarters**

**7.35pm**

I…I…don't, really don't, know what to say.

Um.

Err.

Words fail me.

Speechless, I am.

I mean…something stupid or dangerous or downright disturbing always happens here on Halloween, it's become tradition. Trolls, Petrified cats and scary writing on the wall, a mass murderer breaking into the school…and that's just the last three years.

This year, naturally, was no different.

They all pale in comparison, frankly.

Dumbledore sent me to find Snape at ten past five, as he was late for the staff meeting. (Snape, not Dumbledore)

My first point here is why? Why did he feel the need to have a staff meeting on our day off? Especially right before the feast, which meant that if we didn't turn up we'd have to miss dinner?

Oh.

_Oh.  
_  
Cunning as a Slytherin, that man is.

But I digress.

'Aurora' he said, in that sweet, look-I'm-using-the-name-you-want voice, 'it is most unlike Severus to be late. Would you kindly locate him?'

I suppose I should explain that.

My full name is Auriga Aurora Sinistra. Yes, I know.

And given my propensity to mispronounce my own name, I generally ask people to call me Aurora. After all, it's a bit easier than Auriga, which people can neither say nor spell.

As opposed to Aurora, which people merely misspell.

Snape, naturally, refused to call me by the name I wish to be known by, and calls me 'Aur-i-ga' with the 'i' as in 'is', in that sneering fashion which colours most of his interpersonal communication.

Greasy git.

Everyone else just keeps forgetting and calling me Auriga anyway, so it makes no difference.

Anyway, Dumbledore.

Naturally, I acquiesced to his request. And why, I ask you?

…Notebook.

Well, first, because I am an unbelievably spineless human being.

Second, because Igor Karkaroff (attending a staff meeting of someone else's staff…some people) was taking the opportunity to impress Victoria Vector with his goatee-twirling skills.

Either that or he was trying to flirt with her.

Or maybe he just wanted to extract information from her about the first task, being as she is the biggest gossip in Hogwarts (students included).

Yeah, it's all part of his evil plot to cheat his way to his school's victory.

Whatever. The goatee-twirling was disturbing me.

So I set off for the dungeons, mumbling most of the way about greasy-haired Potions masters who wouldn't deign to be on time for meetings.

And I got to the door of his classroom, which was wide open, and walked as quickly as possible to the back, through the jars of green floating pickled things floating in a disturbing and…green, pickly manner.

The door to his private rooms was locked, and banging on it yelling, "SNAPE? Get out here, you're missing the staff meeting!" proved ineffectual.

Rest assured, had he been there, withering sarcasm would have been forthcoming.

I have that effect on the man.

Not that I want to have any effect on him. Nope. No way.

I stalked back upstairs, fully intending to return to the staffroom and inform Albus that his hideous, hateful, hygienically-challenged…err…Potions master was AWOL, and that I for one wasn't particularly sorry.

But then I saw something outside, out of the corner of my eye. Something silvery.

And the doors of the Entrance Hall were ajar.

Bit of an odd word, ajar.

Naturally, I had to go and investigate.

Curiosity will be the death of me. Though, to be fair, I did bring my wand. So maybe curiosity will merely be the dire injury of me instead. How comforting.

The silver thing turned out to be an animal. A doe, to be precise, which looked at me with big dark eyes and turned its head towards the Forest. Then back to me. Then back to the Forest.

Honestly, I felt as though I were in 'Lassie Come Home' or some such Muggle movie that my dad spends most of his day watching now he's retired.

And then I remembered what it was.

Patronus! That was the name of it! I knew I'd seen them somewhere before: when the Dementors were here last year, we cast Patronuses to keep them back when the students went to Hogsmeade.

Well…some of us did. I didn't recognise the doe. Cat, yes, phoenix, yes, elephant, even (Pomona Sprout is very maternal), but no doe. Still, my visions of the Dark Lord reborn and luring me away to my doom were fading fast as I remembered that a Patronus was an anti-Dark spell, so it was unlikely I'd be in trouble.

In danger from Hagrid's mad pets, maybe, but not from this.

I made up my mind, and stepped forward. Immediately the doe turned tail and cantered away, leaving me to stumble after it, wheezing and tripping over tree roots.

But I didn't have to go far. After less than a minute I burst rather gracelessly into a clearing, where the doe had stopped.

She was standing next to a cowering, shaking figure, head down as if she were whispering to him.

And after a long moment, I realised that it was Snape.

And after another, longer moment, the information really got through.

Snape.

_Snape_.

Heartless, scowling, sneering, overgrown bat of a Potions master Severus Snape. Cringing in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, which was black aside from the light of the doe.

She looked up; raising her head from the figure I still couldn't quite believe was _Snape_, inventor of the twitchshuddersneer.

And, after a second, she trotted over silently, stopping with her head to one side, appraising me.

It was then that I noticed her eyes had a little green in them.

Apparently having come to a decision, she walked purposefully around behind me, and nudged me firmly in the small of the back. I turned to look at her, and she nudged me again, something like pleading in her expression.

I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not brave. Though I'm told that bravery is being afraid and carrying on regardless, so maybe I'm braver than I thought. I was terrified. But she rubbed her head against my arm (funny how it felt so substantial) and suddenly I had a little more courage.

Enough courage not to just turn tail and run, at least. But not quite so much that I wasn't shaking like a leaf and making little tiny whimpering noises as I made my way over and knelt down in front of Snape. His Patronus lay down beside me, leaning her weight against me. She stretched out her neck to nudge him and (I swear) _winked_ at me as he raised his head.

His eyes met mine; puffy, red and full of tears.

Then he realised who it was.

There was a sort of strangled squeak and he tried to jump backwards, shock and hurt and fury mixing themselves into a whirlwind of expressions and quickly settling on Plain Ticked Off.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was kneeling, and the Plain Ticked Off changed rapidly to shock as he fell sideways, catching himself on the Forest floor with both hands as he fell back into a sitting position.

The silvery doe faded into non-existence, and I was suddenly aware of the darkness. And the quiet. And the general awkwardness of the situation.

And then? Then came the strangest part of the evening. As I did something either very sensible and mature or incalculably stupid.

It was a bit like an out-of-body experience as I reached out a hand and raised his chin so he was looking me square in the face, tears still drying on his cheeks and with all the fight gone out of him.

And my mouth, quite of its own accord, formed the words, 'Tell me.'

There was this _pause_, then, like the whole world had stopped. And I was suddenly very aware of the silence of the Forbidden Forest, and the sound of my breathing, and the crackle of leaves as he shifted. I shivered, involuntarily, and lowered my hand…

Which he caught, halfway down, with his own, his hands still dirty from falling. And he pressed a piece of paper into my palm.

A photograph.

I recognised both the figures at once, grinning up at me like they hadn't a care in the world. Snape, a young Snape, with shorter hair and an expression of utter contentment, with a dark green and red scarf wrapped around his neck and around the neck of the girl beside him. They were a picture of contentment, arms slung round each other's shoulders.

The green eyes and the red hair were unmistakeable.

And in the corner of the picture, purple-black ink formed the small, neat words, 'Happy birthday Sev! Love Lily.'

I remembered Lily, for a couple of reasons. She was Head Girl when I first became a Prefect, her and James Potter (well, he was Head Boy, obviously. I mean, _obviously_.) But before that, the green eyes her son had inherited had glittered in rage when she found me crying in the toilets in first year because Bella Black had stolen _Much Ado About Nothing_.

And was threatening to throw the 'filthy Muggle tripe' to the giant squid.

I never did find out how Lily got the book back, but I strongly suspect it had something to do with the limp Bella sported for two weeks after the fact.

But I digress. Again.

Anyway, suddenly it all made sense. Everything, or near enough.

He loved her. Snape, Severus Snape, had loved someone.

And the Dark Lord had murdered her. And all that was left was her baby boy, so like her in spirit, who looked so much like the man Snape hated so much.

With Lily's eyes in his face, and a propensity for trouble.

I know I sound a little melodramatic, but it was that sort of moment.

With an effort, I dragged myself back to the present. And Snape was speaking, so quietly I barely heard him.

'Thirteen years tonight,' he whispered hoarsely.

And I don't really know what happened then.

Or rather, I know what happened but I don't know precisely _how_ I ended up with my arms around the shoulders of a man I loathe, whispering nonsense words of comfort while he shook, stricken, into my shoulder.

The words began, after a while. About how they knew each other as children and how he had loved her and how he regretted not listening to her. Not being strong enough. Being seduced by the Dark.

And how the Dark took his light, his life, his Lily away: first by taking their friendship, then when she married one who had loved her nearly as long, and finally, completely, when…

How he had given his word to Dumbledore to protect Lily Evans's son, a boy not even his own. How he had cursed and cried and lamented that the son had not been his, could have been his, had he not been so blinded by power and greed and belonging. How he knew that wasn't true, deep down, that she and James were…meant to be.

The man has insulted me, stepped on my feet, scared off my boyfriends (ok, boyfriend) and hardly let a civil word about me pass his lips.

Is it pathetic that in spite of that, there were tears in my eyes?

After what might have been ten minutes or two hours he pulled back, eyes still swollen, sallow cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears. I produced a handkerchief from my pocket (along with three Sickles, four Knuts, a Fizzing Whizbee and a quill, but they aren't really relevant) and proffered it in silence, trying to stuff the other items back into my pockets.

And I remembered something Dumbledore had said to me when I lost my grandmother.

'Do the dead we love ever truly leave us, Severus?'

You know, I should have stopped there. I mean, it's a fine line between words of wisdom and nervous prattling. 'Of course, they _do_ leave us, because nobody lives forever…except, I mean, if you believe they do…which I do,' I clarified, 'You know, "The last enemy to be destroyed is death," and that kind of thing, but Lily lives on, is what I'm saying. In your memories and your heart and in your happy thoughts…how else could you produce that Patronus? And she lives on in all who remember her, and even those who don't…he's so much like his mother,' I continued, earning a snort of derision.

'Potter?' he spat, incredulity mingling with disdain as if he hadn't just spent the last…however long lying in my arms.

Not like _that_.

I caught the words, 'Ridiculous…egotistical…' before realising a vital fact.

'Severus!' His head jerked up at my use of his first name. 'I came to tell you that you're missing the staff meeting! It'll be over by now!' I jumped to my feet awkwardly, stumbling a little.

And suddenly, it was all back to normal.

'Yes, well,' the sneer, comforting in its familiarity, was back in place as he got to his feet, 'I doubt any information vital to my teaching abilities will have transpired during my absence.'

'Well, no,' I reasoned, glad to be on more familiar ground, 'because your idea of 'teaching' is writing instructions on the board and then taking off House points when people make mistakes!'

Honestly, you wouldn't think we'd shared a moment at all, would you?

Not that it really qualifies as a 'moment'. They tend to suggest romance, as opposed to providing meagre amounts of comfort to a man mourning the loss of a woman who died more than a decade ago. Though, to be fair, a quite extraordinary woman. And one who gave love and friendship to anyone who needed it, regardless. A woman – girl, I suppose – who spread love around.

Not like _that_.

I was so moved by the spirit of compassion that I actually (displaying once more that I am an unbelievably foolish human being) _took Snape's hand_ as we walked back to the castle.

And didn't let go until we got to the doors of the Entrance Hall.

'If you ever…you know, if you…feel like, I mean, you know…' I gave up on the sentence, and took a deep breath, 'You know that if you need me, I'm here, right?'

Without so much as a word, he swept off, away from the Great Hall. I tried to summon up the wherewithal to respond to such ludicrous rudeness, but he was gone. I decided to join the feast before Albus sent out a search party (though I won't pretend I was good company).

I was too tired to even recount this.

But I suppose that's all right, because there's something I haven't mentioned yet.

I think I'm going to cry again.

Because this morning I found a single white lily on my desk, with a note attached.

Written in tiny, spiky letters were just two words.

'I know.'


End file.
